Still His Son
by Explorer08
Summary: After noticing their distress beacon, Jason rushes to help Dick and Damian at the docks. When he returns to the manor with them, he realizes he and Damian are more alike than he'd thought. (Tried to stay away from major fluff, but there's minor spots of it. Jason isn't a saint, so there's swearing too.) Rated T One-Shot


*****B*****

**So this is just a one-shot depicting Jason during a return to the manor. Will he go, leaving the only support he has as they all still mourn Bruce's death? Or will he stay, making an attempt to satisfy one of Bruce's greatest wishes -to have his son return home?**

**I own nothing, all Batman related characters/events are property of DC.**

*****B*****

A torrent of rain falls relentlessly upon Gotham, creating a familiar roar as it hits metal roofs and aged asphalt streets. _So what else is new?_ I ignore my soaked grey Kevlar suit and leather jacket and press on, leaping from one rooftop to the next until I finally reach the docks. Glancing at my GPS, I frown.

"Dammit, where are you," I growl. I've been heading towards Robin's distress signal for a while now, and it looks as though I'm right on top of them. Reluctantly, I press my com-link and patch into their channel. "Robin, where are you guys?"

I hear what sounds like a cough, then a sniffle. "This is Robin. Pier 32."

I don't wait for him to speak again, jumping the thirty feet from the top of the warehouse's metal roof to the ground below. I move swiftly between the huge metal buildings until I reached pier 32. Looking around, I grumble into the com-link. "I don't see you. Come on, give me something kid."

He says nothing, but suddenly a batarang flies from somewhere in front of me and embeds itself in an empty wooden crate near my head. _Real subtle there, kid._ I sneak along the back of the warehouse until a small foot trips me.

"SHIT!" _Not so subtle this time._

Looking down, my heart nearly stops cold. Dick is leaned against the building while Demon Brat presses more gauze into a heavily bleeding gunshot wound in Dick's side.

I kneel and put a hand on the kid's shoulder. "What happened?" I growl out. He scowls at me, but answers anyway.

"While you were busy running your idiotic drug trade, Black Mask decided to take a new route. He was holding a meeting with Penguin to bring his coke and heroin deeper into downtown through the clubs. Batman and I were going to bust it up…." He trails off for a moment, as though composing himself. "They had armor piercing rounds. He got hit, but I didn't realize…"

I sigh. "Okay, I know you can drive, so go get the damned car and hurry!" The little Demon stands and I can see he's shaking. "Robin," I say, a bit calmer, "just go get the Batmobile." The kid nods and races away. "Dammit Batman," I mutter, pressing my hand tighter to his side.

"Hey there, Red," the man murmurs in response. "Where's Robin?"

"Getting the car. We've got to get you back to the cave. I can't do anything for this out here in the field." Dick nods. "Where's Replacement?" I ask.

"He –ah!– should still be over near your area. Always send him your way," Dick mutters as I help him up. I feel Dick lean heavily against me.

"I'll give him a call. In the meantime, you can't walk, so this is going to hurt." I heft Dick up into my arms.

"GAH!"

At 5'10" and only 175 pounds, he's still the lanky acrobat he's always been, but I'm a pain in the ass and have to give him crap.

"Jeez, you been putting on weight?" I mutter.

He half chuckles at me. "You outweigh me by fifty pounds, fatty."

"It's muscle, shithead," I grumble back at him. He makes a sound that I assume is supposed to be a laugh, but sounds more like a pained cough. I make my way slowly to the end of the building, keeping an eye out for any of Black Mask's drug dealing goons or Penguin's hired muscle that could still be hanging around. The Batmobile comes to a roaring stop before me, and Damian leaps out to open the passenger side door.

"Robin, sit in the back and keep him stable," I order. The kid just nods rather than giving me a snippy remark about giving him orders. Demon Brat and I help Dick get situated in the back, and run to the driver's side. I'm barely in the driver's seat when I slam my foot against the gas pedal.

As I speed down the side streets of Gotham, I press the car's com-link system.

"Red Robin!" I growl.

"Hood? Why are you using the Batmobile's com-system?"

"Shut up, Replacement, I've got Bats. He's going to need some help back at the cave. Call Leslie and Alfred." I hear Replacement suck in a breath. He knows Demon Brat wouldn't have called me unless it was bad. _The guys don't just call me._

"I'll meet you there." He disconnects and I see the tracker on his motorcycle start moving on the GPS screen. I yank my helmet off and toss it into the other seat, glancing at the little Demon and Dick in the mirror as I do. My jaw almost hits the floor at the sight of tears on Robin's face. _Okay, so maybe he's not a total robot. Still a demon, though._

We reach the cave and I get Dick out of the car in record time, the kid following closely behind. Replacement, Dr. Leslie Thompkins, and Alfred are waiting for us in the med bay. I place Dick on the bed. Demon Brat tries to squeeze in beside me.

I smack Replacement's arm a bit and push him towards the kid. "Get him out of here!"

I pull Dick's suit off and throw it to the floor, ignoring the protests of the Demon Brat as Replacement drags him away. Alfred works quickly to administer anesthesia and Leslie begins to work on the bullet wound. "Master Jason," Alfred says sternly, "please go make sure the two young ones change and do the same yourself. I'll not have you sick while Master Dick is recovering." Not one to argue with the butler, I nod and step out of the med bay. Replacement and Demon Brat are arguing in the corner and I smack them both in their heads.

"Shut up and change into your regular clothes! Alfred's orders!" They glare at me for a moment but I cross my arms, leaving no room for argument. The three of us head upstairs and to our rooms. I hate to admit it, but I am almost –_almost–_ glad that I still have some clothes here for situations like this one.

***B***

It's been almost three hours since I brought Dick and Demon Brat back to the cave. Replacement and Demon Brat are in the kitchen with Alfred getting something hot to eat while I help Leslie get Dick settled in his room. She's not nervous around me like most people, so I actually bother to be nice to her. Most of the time.

"If anything changes, call me," she orders before leaving. I walk outside with her to make sure she gets to her car, and then I head back to the kitchen, my once dry shirt now wet from the drizzle that is still falling. I stop in the doorway, watching as Tim stares at the backyard. He's holding what I'm guessing is a cup of coffee, the rich smell drifting towards me. Never one to turn down anything Alfred has made –especially the strong coffee that we all love– I go and pour a cup for myself.

"What are you watching, Replacement?" He rolls his eyes at my name for him, but keeps looking outside. I follow his gaze and see the little Demon working out in the backyard, ignoring the steady drizzle. He does a few set routines and moves to work on yet another of Alfred's hedges. It's still dark out, but he's relentless.

"He's pretty broken up about tonight, Jay. I don't know how to talk to him. He's so… violent… like…" He stops.

I can hear what he doesn't say loud and clear: _like me._

I chug the scalding coffee and put the cup in the sink. Ignoring Replacement's shocked face as I open the back door, I step outside. I haven't even shut the door behind me when Demon Brat acknowledges my presence.

"What do you want, Todd?"

He doesn't stop his fight against the half-demolished hedge as I approach, but I can almost see the "go away" feeling radiating off him in waves.

"You'll be better if you spar with a person," I say. He stops this time and glares.

"You think yourself worthy? I was raised by the League of Assassins."

"Yeah, I know how you were raised. Your _mom_ is the one who threw me into the Lazarus Pit." He grumbles at that, though I have no clue as to what he says, nor do I really care. "Just come on. Let's blow off some steam."

He doesn't even hesitate and leaps at me, trying to use his smaller size to trip me up. _Bruce's teachings, not the League's._ I smirk, remembering when I had to learn the same thing the hard way. He lashes out at me with quick fists and I jump back. When he aims a roundhouse kick at my ribs, I can see he's let loose and his mentality is beyond just sparring. I drop to a pushup position and swing my legs around. He lands solidly on his back and I hear the air rush out of his lungs. He leaps to his feet despite the fact that he probably can't even take a real breath yet and swings at me.

I catch his fist easily and stare at him. His blue eyes are leaking tears. They mix with the rain that's picked back up. He swings his other fist and I catch it in my free hand. We stare at each other for a moment, as though seeing who would look away first.

I'm not supposed to be the nice one; that's Dick's job. Replacement is the freaking genius detective, albeit a skinny one, who can tell what we're all thinking. The kid before me is supposed to be the little punk. Staring at him for a moment, though, I realize something.

_He's me._

He's a hardass who's got blood on his hands and too many mommy issues. Neither of us had Bruce for long, but the whole time we did, he taught us something: we were better than all that shit.

I just happened to be the idiot who _died_ and fell off the bandwagon, with a personal vendetta against Joker to boot.

"Damian," I whisper. His eyes go wide with shock and he drops his fists from my grip. "It's not your fault." I say the words I know he needs to hear, because I remember needing to hear them myself for so many years. Hell, Bruce isn't here and I _still_ want to hear them.

Damian tightly presses his hands to the sides of his face and I can see him breaking bit by bit in front of me. Wordlessly, I scoop him up and head to the house. Rep– Tim opens the door for me and I walk past him. He doesn't say anything –just keeps drinking his coffee as we pass by. I motion for him to follow. I feel Damian wrap his arms around my neck tightly. I realize we're both soaked to the bone again and head upstairs to his room.

"Go get me some shorts," I murmur to Tim. He simply nods and walks to my room. Sitting Damian on his bed, I go and grab some pajamas from his drawer. _Of course, they're Batman themed._ I shake my head and return to the bed to help him peel out of his wet sweater. When he's down to his jeans, I motion to the bathroom.

"Go shower." He says nothing, doing as I ask without a word of protest. Tim returns and throws me a pair of black and red basketball shorts. "Thanks," I mutter.

"I'm going to sit with Dick for a while so Alfred can go to bed," he tells me. I nod and he's gone in an instant.

I throw my wet clothes on top of Damian's and slip on my shorts, a chill going down my spine as the cool air brushes over my skin. Thinking twice about leaving the wet clothes on the floor, since I know Alfred may actually kill me for doing such a thing, I run them downstairs to the laundry room and return before Damian is out of the shower.

I hear the water shut off and a bit of shuffling as he dries off. A small hand reaches out the door and I hand him his pajamas. He steps out a few moments later, his hair still dripping. I grab the towel from the bathroom floor and dry his hair, trying to be nice and not to jerk the kid's head off of his shoulders as I do. I throw the towel back down and he stands there, still silent. I hesitate. _Did I do something wrong?_ Before I can ask him what's wrong, he looks up at me.

The first thing that registers in my mind is his scared blue eyes. It freaks me out, seeing as the kid has never even wanted me around, let alone trusted me. I know Dick would kick my ass though if I just left him miserable.

"Okay, you're going to come sleep with me. Tim is with Dick for the night, so he'll be fine."

All I get is a small nod. Sighing, I pick him up. Almost immediately he wraps his arms around my neck and his legs are like a vice around my stomach. _Jeez, hope he doesn't strangle me._ I wait for him to make a move, but then I relax as he just stays still. I walk slowly to my room and nudge the door closed with my foot once we're inside. I place him in my bed and he scoots to the middle, giving me room to slide in beside him.

"You –uh– comfy?" I ask him, not really sure of what else to say.

Again, only a small nod. I sigh and lay down beside him. My room hasn't changed in my absence. Pale grey walls, red curtains, black bedframe, and red carpet. I know Alfred still washes my sheets every week, too. They smell clean as I pull them up to my waist.

I turn on my side, one hand tossed up by my face and the other on the pistol under my pillow. I've slept this way for years now. When I was young, it was a switchblade that I'd pickpocketed, and later it was a batarang. Now, it's a 9mm with two extra clips stuck under the edge of the mattress. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to have to shoot the kid, though.

Just as I start to finally relax, a small hand reaches for my free hand, dragging it away from my face. I glance down at him and notice he's already almost asleep. He murmurs something that I can't understand, but then rolls and curls up against my ribs. I tense, waiting for some sly move. He does nothing. A little snore floats towards my ears and I realize he's curled up to me like he would be if he was in Dick's room. _Dick is the cuddly one, dammit._

I try to relax again, but being raised on the streets and then raised from the dead makes a guy a little wary, especially of strange human contact. _Especially_ from one that doesn't act so human 99% of the time. I glance at the time. The digital clock reads _4:09_ in blocky red letters. It's summer, so the sun will come early. Knowing I can't turn away from the window with the kid cuddling me, I'll have to watch the sun come up and shine in my face. So that's what I do.

_4:23_

If I squint, I can see a bit of light outlining the horizon.

_4:30_

The clouds are turning pink and orange, and you can almost see a few rays

of sunlight over the distant skyscrapers of Gotham.

_4:46_

The sun peeks over the horizon.

Its first rays brush the tops of the trees that fill the land behind the manor.

I glance down at Damian, who is still curled tightly into my side. Sunlight slowly creeps into the room and I realize that I'm not even tense as I close my eyes. I feel Damian bury his face in my chest as the light reaches the bed, and I almost smirk at just how human he can manage to be. Almost.

***B***

I snap awake the moment I hear the door open to my room. I stay still until I realize I'm in the manor. Glancing down, I see Damian has flopped over onto his back, but still holds my free arm over him. I glance over my shoulder to the door. Tim is standing there, his eyes wide and jaw on the floor. I roll my eyes at him and jerk my chin at him to beckon him to come closer. He does.

"Dick?" I ask.

"He's awake. Alfred is getting him to eat something. Other than the blood loss, he's basically fine. Bullet missed all vital organs and it didn't chip any ribs. He just kept fighting instead of stopping the blood, so he went down," Tim explained.

"Sounds like something he'd do," I reply, but we both know what I really mean.

_Sounds like something Bruce would do._

I was always convinced that Bruce could've gotten an arm lopped off and he wouldn't stop until the bad guys were down. He'd rather bleed than allow scum to stay on the streets.

"Okay," I say, noticing the clock reads only _7:30_, "let me get some sleep and I'll be in to see him later." Tim nods and leaves me to sleep.

***B***

I feel Damian sit up, pushing my free arm away. I lay there, waiting to see if he'll try to get me out of bed. Surprisingly, he scoots out of the bed quietly, walking on assassin's feet to the door. I hear him pause before quickly exiting and heading down the stairs. Happy to have a bit of simple peace, I turn away from the window and stretch.

My feet drag as I make my way out of my room to stumble down the stairs and into the kitchen. Tim looks up at me from his cup of coffee and plate of toast, raising an eyebrow. I ignore him. I turn to grab a cup of coffee, relishing the way it burns my mouth and wakes me up. The feel of a small finger tracing a scar on my back nearly makes me jump through the roof. I whip around to see Damian shrinking away from me. I didn't bother with a shirt, so my horrendous scars are on display for all to see. I know which one he was tracing. _Fight with Killer Croc. 11 stitches._

"Hey, warm up those hands," I manage to tease, trying to get him to see I'm not pissed. He relaxes a little, but still doesn't speak. He wanders over to sit at the bar with Tim, snatching a piece of toast from the older boy's plate.

"Hey," Tim protests, "get your own, little thief."

Damian ignores him. I lean back against the counter, keeping my eyes on the two twerps in front of me. I steal a glance at the clock.

_8:13_

Chugging the last of my coffee, I head to Dick's room and don't bother to knock. Alfred is there, trying to get Dick to take a pain pill.

"Really, I'm okay Alfred."

The old butler sighs. "Very well, Master Dick, if you insist." I can't help but smile a little at that. Alfred has never exactly been one to relent on caring for one of us, but he knows our preferences and keeps them in mind. Dick can't stand the way pain pills make him feel. He likes to feel present and be able to communicate.

Tim always wants to get out of bed the minute the damn pills kick in, convinced that he's fine once the pain is gone. I know Damian hates stitches, insisting that having a scar was better than being "sewn up like a set of cheap drapes."

Personally, I have always been terrified of pain. I can't stand to be injured and have agony throbbing through me. I suppose that's one reason I hate the Joker so much. Some douchebag pushing me around a bit on the streets? Yeah, okay, I'll kick your ass and toss you into Arkham. A piece of garbage beating me to death with a crowbar and then blowing me sky high before I died? Nope. I'm going to take every chance I can get to light your sorry ass on fire and beat you with the damned crow bar myself. Hence my vicious tirade when I returned to Gotham for the first time.

Jerking away from my thoughts, I notice Dick looking at me pointedly.

"What?" I ask.

"Did you kill Damian?" He raises an eyebrow at me and I scoff.

"No, not worth the time to bury the body. Why?"

Dick sighs, wincing a bit. "He won't come speak with me."

_Ah, so Golden Boy thinks he's done something._

"Dick, I'm no therapist by any means," I start. He rolls his eyes at me and I glare back. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure nearly watching the man –who has stepped up to mentor you– nearly bleed to death behind a warehouse is pretty scary. Hell, the kid let me spar with him last night! He slept in my bed!" Shock completely covers Dick's face.

"Did you drug him?"

I throw up my hands and shake my head. "No, he's just acting weird. For him at least."

Dick seems to accept this as an answer for now. Before I go, he pesters me with a few questions about the ride back to the cave the night before. I answer him quickly and leave him to sleep. His eyes are already heavy when I close the door.

I can hear Damian and Tim arguing in the living room, and head straight there.

"Drake, I will not sit and watch this ridiculous television show!" Damian was crawling all over Tim, reaching for the remote that was consistently just out of reach. Tim was smiling, and teasing the kid.

"Aw, come on, you don't want to watch the show with the talking fruit?" Damian growls and punches him in the stomach. Tim yelps and drops the remote, clutching at his stomach. I smirk at Damian's violent determination. I know Dick would have said something to them, so I try to act as the "responsible" adult.

"Okay, twerps," I interrupt their renewed argument over the remote, "we're watching what I want to watch." Before they can protest, I snatch away the remote and hit the power button.

"Um, Jay, you turned it off," Tim said.

"No shit," I mutter. "Go outside and play. No training –uh– play a game or something." _I don't know what you twerps do around here._ Tim and Damian look at each other, then back at me. I roll my eyes at their obvious confusions. "Get a football and go outside or something!" They both leap from their seats and race out the back door. I grumble, knowing they hadn't grabbed a football.

I continue my low volume rant about lazy-ass kids to myself as I stomp upstairs and go to Dick's room. He continues sleeping as I open his closet and grab the football he keeps there. By the time I'm down the stairs and out the door, the twerps are at it again.

"Damian! GET OFF!" Tim yells. Damian is climbing up Tim's back like he's a ladder. Damian perches himself of Tim's shoulders and reaches for Tim's neck. Uh oh, I know where this is going.

"DAMIAN!"

I don't even realize I'm the one who's yelled until I notice their faces. Tim's face is shocked –probably because I'm still bothering to use their names– but Damian's face shows pure terror. He does a backflip off Tim, who grunts as he pitches forward from Damian's momentum. When his feet hit the grass, Damian turns to me.

His eyes stare at the grass like he's determined to watch it grow, and I'm once again shocked by this little monster. He's fiddling with his hands, almost nervously. It's like he's waiting for me to walk over and beat him. I step towards him and he tenses, raising his gaze. His eyes are frozen, their usual defiance absent and replaced with apprehension. Kneeling in front of him, I put a hand on his shoulder. He's still tense, waiting for an attack.

"I'm not going to hit you," I say quietly. He doesn't seem to believe me for a minute –can't say I blame him, though. I wouldn't believe me either. He slowly relaxes and glances at the football in my hands. Standing, I toss Tim the ball. "Play nice."

Once my back is turned, I swear I can hear Damian release the breath he was holding. Tim starts talking to him about scoring and I go inside, shutting the back door quietly behind me. _What the hell am I doing? Dick's the nice one in this joint._

A light bulb goes off in my head. _I need a drink._ I head in the direction of the dining room, largely unused as Dick and the twerps usually sit in the kitchen at the bar to talk to Alfred. The large door opens quietly and I smirk. _Jackpot!_ At the other end of the room is a wet bar, mostly used for when Bruce had one of his silly parties here at the manor.

I reach for a bottle of rum and one of the crystal glasses that Alfred keeps sparkling and in perfect order, despite the fact that they'll probably never see a party again. I fill the glass and return the bottle to its place in the cabinet. _On second thought…_ I grab the bottle to take with me and head down to the cave.

That's where Damian finds me a few hours later.

I've given up on refilling the glass and taken to drinking straight from the bottle. I ignore him as he takes a seat beside me in the Batmobile, choosing instead to take another swig of rum. I can tell I'm buzzed, but it takes more than a bottle of rum to get me really drunk. _Should've grabbed the silver tequila, too._

"Todd," Damian says, "may I speak with you?"

I shrug. "Sound like you already are."

I sit up straight and put down the bottle, looking over at him. He glances away and then back. "I owe you a thanks for saving Grayson and myself last night."

"You're –uh– welcome. So did you talk to Dick?"

"Yes, I spoke with him. He says it wasn't my fault." I can see his hesitation.

"You don't believe him." I say it more as a statement than a question, because the answer is written clearly across his features.

He shrugs. "I suppose. I'm supposed to work on accepting that 'things happen' as he says. Strange idea, I think."

I can't help but smirk at the kid. "Kid, shit does happen. Sometimes there's nothing you can do about it. Dick knows that, and he'll make sure you remember it." He nods once, as though accepting my words as an answer. "Go eat whatever Alfred has made for dinner. Tell him I'll be up later, because I know he'll ask." Damian nods again, slipping out of the car and back upstairs.

He knows I'm lying.

I stand from the car, walking towards the back of the cave, hoping to slip away without going through the manor. I've never been the one to lean on. _I hope I never am._ I'm the loaded gun, the gently balanced blade, the ticking time bomb ready to blow. The glass bottle in my hand suddenly weighs a ton. I stop suddenly as a realization hits me: _I don't want to leave._

"_Then don't._" Bruce's voice rings in my mind. I know he'd tell me exactly that.

I'm not sure how long I stand there, rooted firmly at the start of the long stone drive that leads out of the cave. There's so much pain in my chest that I'm sure I must be having a heart attack. The ache is like a fire, burning through me and leaving only destruction in its wake.

I finally manage to glance at the clock on the batcomputer.

_7:24_

I've been at the manor for nearly twenty hours, a new record.

I'm sure everyone is finished with dinner by now. Alfred is most likely forcing Dick to take it easy and relax on the couch. Tim is definitely following the latest reports, searching for anything that might need looking in to. Damian is probably working out in the backyard again, trying to be the best at everything he does. None of them are going to expect me upstairs.

But that's where I go.

Without even realizing it at first, my feet move towards the stairs. When I reach the top, the door slides open, and I find Alfred dusting. I pretend not to notice the smile that appears on his face. Before heading upstairs to my room, I glance at a side table full of pictures and my gaze settles on one in particular.

Bruce is leaned back comfortably on the couch, still in his Batman suit. Dick is strewn across his lap and I'm pressed snugly to his side, his arms draped over each of us as we sleep.

_I remember that. Dick and I had the flu and he came home early._

I hesitate for a moment before reaching out and gently taking the frame from its place. Alfred says nothing as I take it with me to my room.

I close the door behind me, flipping on the desk lamp and moving to sit on my bed. As I place the picture on the bedside table, I can hear Bruce's voice again, reminding me of who I am.

"_You're my son._"


End file.
